


There is Nothing to Fear but Hope Itself

by eurodox59



Series: On Hope [1]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Lots of Thinking, So beware, Suicidal Ideation, and it's not nice, suicidal thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 15:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurodox59/pseuds/eurodox59
Summary: Seven years ago, Dallas Basri fought on the side of Angels. Now, she sides with the demons against the ones who hurt her. The only complication? The fierce and wonderful heroine Julia Ortega. If it weren't for her, Dallas would be certain of her course. (No longer canon for Dallas)





	There is Nothing to Fear but Hope Itself

You’re not entirely sure why you keep doing this, but you look into the mirror once more, and…

Well, shit. If there ever were a more vacant, more foolish expression than the one that looked back at you, then you’ve not laid eyes on it.

You look away. It’s… well that you’ll not have to look at it for too much longer. 

A thought occurs to you: is that why you’re doing this? To go out in a big bang? In a… a fucking blaze of glory? You feel your lip curling into a sneer as you shake the thought’s grubby little mitts off of your head. Your plan is divvied up into two broad parts: put an end to your most threatening enemies, and make sure they can’t come back. You’re planning on your end because you’ve done too much evil in the last two years. Evil that you can never repay, such as stealing the body of a coma patient, violating the consent of the people around you, possessing someone else’s body and making them watch while you stole something. No, there can only be one rightful place for you, and you will make sure you end up there so that no one can follow you; whether willing or otherwise.

Your phone rings, startling you out of your reverie. Scrambling for purchase, your hands rip it from your pocket. It’s… You blink, eyes still not accustomed to seeing that name on the Caller ID. It’s Ortega. Before you can even think about it, your fingers swipe to answer and your hand places the receiver at your ear.

Her voice is soft. Smooth, even. “Hey.” 

You can hear the jaunty smile in that one little word, and for a moment it’s like the seven-year gulf between the two of you never existed.

“H-h-hey.” your voice is low, uncertain in ways that only she can elicit from you.

Just the sound of her voice instills in your body the urge to relax, to let your guard down. Again, it’s like those seven years didn’t happen. Which is why she’s a complication that you need to get rid of. So why don’t you do it?

You hear the smile in her voice as she responds. “Hey, you! I’m so glad you answered. I was getting worried.”

And is that a beat? In your dead heart? You want to deny it, instead you attempt to assert some peace in your mind.

“I-I-I’ve been… busy.” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

The question kicks your mind into high gear. Did she not hear? Did she really not hear, or is she prodding you for something? You regret that last question almost as soon as you formed it. It causes another pain in your chest.

You force yourself to smile as you answer. “Going deaf in your old age?”

Sighing, Julia goes for the barb. “No, I just—I know you said you had enemies,” she says, and you curse yourself for letting her know that much, “and I’m just… paranoid.”

You bite back an automatic you’re absolutely not before it can escape your throat. If she knew even half the shit you’ve done, she’d break things off right here and right now. Hell, you should be the one to break it off first. So why don’t you? It’s not because you’re attracted to her. That’s long dead. Never mind the way your body responds to her. It’s all a goddamn fluke that’ll go away in time.

And never mind the gaping hole in your mind that threatens the last remaining shard of your sanity, of you. Never mind that it’s so tightly associated with her. Because you are enemies now. Enemies. You can never have what you had seven years ago. And by the time you’ve done your last work, it’ll be too late for anything. 

And yet… and yet—

Julia speaks first. Or whispers, rather. “Hey.”

Your voice is nearly a squeak as you respond. “Hey.” 

“You wanna go to the park?” she offers. “It’s a pretty day outside.” 

That’s… pretty morbid. Is she—the realization hits you in the back of the head like a clown on a rampage.

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” you ask.

As she sighs away whatever weight she had on her shoulders, it tugs your guts out with it. D-d-did you do something wrong? Your mind spins up again, wondering how you’ll do damage control.

“Yeah.” Julia says, and it’s all the answer she needs to give.

So she wants to talk, but not over the phone. You stand there a moment, taking it in. Heart racing for what may or may not be a valid concern.

Then, on an impulse, you speak up. “Sure.”

And then it’s out of your hands. A kind of relief washes over you in response. What is an unnecessary and dangerous risk to your plans feels almost heavenly. You can hear the smile in Julia’s voice come back as she tells you what time she wants to meet up. And then you say your goodbyes and hang up.

You run your hand over your face. Well, shit. You keep doing that. You keep fucking doing that. And your wonderful, wonderful brain, ever the devil’s fucking advocate, responds in kind: would it really be so wrong to go after Julia? After all, the spark between you survived the Heartbreak. You just won’t admit that. But the answer to the question remains unchanged: you are enemies now, and she will dump you like a bad habit as soon as she finds out. 

A moment of inspiration reveals to you the real question: Why? Why do you keep pursuing her? Why do you relax whenever she’s around? Why do you still find her so attractive? And, as ever, your answer must start from the truth. Namely, that you do still love her. The admission distresses you more than you’d like, but it’s true. You love a woman who deserves better than you. Better than a liar and a crook. Your lips form a string of invective, even as no sound comes out of your mouth. You love that reckless idiot, that smooth motherfucker, that dangerous enemy of yours. You’re a goddamn fool to do so, but it doesn’t change that fact, that truth.

So what now? You know your body still responds to her, so it’s safe to say that Julia has seen at least some of that. It’s fucking dumb of you to proceed thusly, but Dallas will have to keep going, will have to see how things play out. Fuck your fucking life. If only there were another way. If only you—

Laughter, syrupy sweet bubbles up from your chest like a cat clawing a chalkboard as it’s dragged by its tail. Your damned mind finds humor at the worst fucking times. Because it would be gosh diddly darn convenient if you really were free. Free to date Julia like a proper girlfriend ought to, free to live, free to hope. But you tried that already. You tried it last time when you worked on the side of angels and in the end it got you nothing. Nothing but broken. No, as long as they live, they will never leave you alone. And they will break you if they catch you. You know this: that you won’t survive them again. It’s why you resolved to take them with you. All of them.

And once again, that leads you to the same conclusion: that you have only one choice in this matter, only one way to succeed. Even as your mind’s eye stares into the gaping chasm, into the black and lurid tarn that houses death, doom, and darkness, you know with a crushing certainty that there is but one choice: keep. going. forward. 

And again, your brain intervenes. And perhaps it has a purpose in doing so, but you can only feel guilty as your mind conjures visions of a cozy little tech shop on some street corner, of you gesturing excitedly while you talk shop with your customers, of a life free from fear. A life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder every second of the day. It’s so beautiful that it… it… You wipe a tear from your eye as you sniffle. Fuck, man. It’s not fair. 

You sigh, your heart and mind finally beginning to calm down. And, yeah, maybe it wasn’t fair, three years ago, but since then you’ve gone and made it fair. Your actions, your villainous feats can, or at least should, have consequences. And you’ve racked up more than enough debt. That’s not the guilt talking, that’s fact. What you’ve been wanting instead, is a shallow, unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. Someplace peaceful. There’s a certain beauty to the image. Probably the idea, or the image, of a good rest. You believe you can hope for that much, at least.

But returning to the matter at hand, your course was set years ago. And there was and is only one path that will stop them. And only one rightful end for you. You are, at once, too deep and not deep enough. Too deep to turn back, but still vulnerable to them. 

So what now? What about Julia?

Because in the base case, this ends with your death, which will hurt her. Again. Some forgotten kind of heartfelt pain chokes you. That fucking idiot. Just by being in your life she’s fucking with your plans. Making you waver, making you uncertain. Why does she make you doubt? What power does she have? A part of you wants to smack yourself for the question. You’ve never understood love just by watching it. And now that you’re experiencing it you can’t grasp it any better than before. Like a useless idiot.

You shut down that train of thought and begin sketching what a good solution should look like. Goal number 1: Julia will willingly live to the end of her natural lifespan. You will consider any attempt to intervene telepathically a failure. Next, goal number 2… you let that thought drift. A part of you wants to make sure that Julia will take part in your end, but you know that that would be too much to expect. It might break her despite your preparations to meet goal 1. The answer comes to you: goal number 2 is that Julia will lead a happy life after you’re gone. You owe her that much, at the very least.

Your satisfaction at putting those goals into sentences dissipates as you realize that the most efficient route forward will still involve breaking things off. A groan rises from your throat as you wipe the happiness from your face.

Christ on a pogo stick, why does she have to interfere? As ever, your brain reminds you of how dumb you really are by presenting you with the answer: it’s in her codename, Charge. That heroic idiot would probably not be the woman you care so fucking much about if she gave up at the first sign of trouble. So, when you absolutely have to rip off that tourniquet, it’s gonna be ugly no matter what. Shit.

You look at your watch. It’s time to go. 

_Go where?_ your brain asks. And again you feel like a fool as you walk right into its trap: _you’re gonna do battle with Hope. _

Fuck.


End file.
